Incompetent
by Neon Boom
Summary: The 81st Hunger Games approaches, Katniss and Peeta are given new tributes to coach before they take their turn in the arena but what can the famous duo do with someone who's so completely incompetent?
1. Last Day of My Life

_Greetings all and welcome to my first Hunger Games Fic, a few things before we begin…_

_First, I have yet to read 'Catching Fire' and 'Mockingjay' so this story is set after Katniss and Peeta's victory in the 74th games assuming they followed protocol without immediate consequences. I'm not saying they're home free but I warn you that I plan to deal with their upsetting the Capitol in a different way._

_Apologies for any facts that I get wrong, I realised as I was writing this that some of this must have come from my own imagination. I have gone through this once to rectify mistakes and whatnot but I'm not too worried about being entirely canon with the minute details. Most of it is canon but I just wanted to warn you in case you find something and think to yourself 'hang on a minute'._

_Any news regarding the update of this Fic will be available on my profile so please visit that if I haven't updated in a while and you wonder why, any questions, just leave a review or PM me._

_And finally, a warning for violence etc and I do not own The Hunger Games_

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**1. Last Day of My Life**

The trees outside my window are swaying. The light filters through them, through my bedroom window to make patterns of light and dark on my face. The way each leaf moves slightly out of turn with each other creates a ripple effect, almost like magic.

I know I have to get up. There are still things to be done, even today. Even today when there is no market, when the back alleys lay empty, deserted and the coal mines are shut up, their bounty undisturbed in the darkness.

Today isn't about work, at least not for us. Not for the ones that are of age…

I slip out of bed and follow the trail of light to my window. Through the cracked glass, the shade of the trees seems to entice me and suddenly, I can't resist the gnawing need that seems to flare up within me. I have to get out of this house at least for a little while.

Carefully, I lift the window up and though it creaks threateningly, the tell-tale sound of my mother's wheelchair rolling across the hard wood floors doesn't interrupt my epic escape. I drop onto the hard ground and stifle a cry as I botch the landing, crumpling into a heap. There are a few moments where my cheeks burn hot with humiliation and pain, I've landed awkwardly on my ankle and I feel gingerly around the joint for any immediate swelling. The pain eases though and I'm able to stand without consequence. Still, I could curse my clumsiness.

I steal round the side of the house keeping to the shadows. Some of our neighbours are already out soaking their clothes in the morning light or cooking their game. The family must be well fed for the Reaping after all.

My shoes are sitting right where I left them next to the front step, hard leather boots that used to belong to my brother before he was chosen for the games a few years back. They're a few sizes too big so the rule is that I wear a multitude of socks to done them lest I get sores on my feet. I can't really afford to let that happen with my mother as she is.

I tiptoe forwards. Some of the neighbours kids are out and they see me. Their faces, grim set and determined, soften as they watch me creep forward, Dorian Charter even looks like he might smile which is a feat considering his twelfth birthday was around three months ago now. This will be his first time.

The windows of my house dip low to the ground which means we can see everything that goes on right outside. Of course, it also means that I have to be pretty much on my belly in the mud to try and reach my shoes. With my heart in my mouth, I stretch out and my finger tip brushes the old, worn lace.

"Pippin?"

There's a crack as the door to our house swings open and hits the wall. I glance up at my mum, cowering when she fixes me with her best glare.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she asks me.

"Uh…" I start intelligently. I try to think of a legitimate excuse for being caught like this but there's nothing I can really say that will cover up the fact that I was obviously trying to swipe my shoes unseen.

"I…thought I'd give my boots a polish?" I venture lamely, grinning at mum in hopes that she'll loosen up. Her grey eyes can be seriously steely when she needs them to be. It's like looking at a wall of iron.

My own eyes are brown like my father's were and they're not nearly as pretty as mum's. I tell her this everyday but she just says that I should count my blessings. Brown eyes blend in she tells me, brown eyes see further.

"You don't think you're wearing those old things do you?"

A cold ice pit is forming in my stomach. What does she mean I don't think I'm wearing those old things?

"I bought you a present," mum tells me happily, wheeling aside to let me back in. I give one, final glance at my beloved shoes, at the trees I didn't get a chance to gallivant through before shuffling back inside.

* * *

I try to shuffle forward, managing about two steps before falling flat in the dust. I'm left glaring at the floor like it can offer an explanation as to why I was born with so little grace and dexterity. Iris is there in an instant, her arm tucked under mine so she can hoist me back to my feet. We are both wearing similar shoes, tiny strips of black leather with pointed tips and long thin heels. I really don't see any sort of practicality here…

"Are you alright?" Iris asks me, letting go of my arm slowly, in case the inevitable wobble returns. You've got to love Iris, she's been my best friend since we were six and my brother was taken in the Reaping. When it was announced that he had been killed off in the initial Bloodbath, I'd thrown myself out of the house and into the woods running until I could run no more.

I hadn't ever really noticed her before that day, the girl in my class at school that always sat at the back with her mousy complexion and her mousy voice but she was the one that found me that day. She came and sat next to me without a word and stayed like that until I had no more tears to cry.

"I'm fine," I assure her, plonking down on the nearest tree stump. "This is beyond ridiculous though…"

There's a rant left un-shouted at the end of that sentence but there really is no point.

Iris is picking the petals off of a daisy she's just plucked up, her brow is creased. She seems to be poised like a coiled spring, the tension in her shoulders is almost visible.

"How…how many times is your name in this year?"

I glance down at the dress my mother picked out for me. It's a beautiful understated garment that wraps neatly around my waist. Despite the mud and the dust, it smells faintly of flowers.

"Only 20," I say quietly, listening to the sound of the words as they collide off of the trees around us. Iris does nothing but nod.

"How about you?" I ask her, knowing that she won't meet my eyes.

There's a pause.

"…12."

I copy Iris and nod, she's always careful about how many times her name gets entered though she's providing for a family of three. She's good at hunting and doesn't need to tempt fate as much as I do for food.

There's another pause as we sit in companionable silence admiring the surrounding trees. I know we live in one of the poorest districts but I do love the wild life around here, the empty rolling hills of trees and heather, the silence…

"How many times do you think Archie's in this year?" Iris asks casually, swinging her legs up as she hoists herself up on a tree branch.

"Enough," I say bitterly.

Archie Periwinkle is our third musketeer and he's the same as me. His dad's blind from working the mines so long without adamant lighting so Archie puts his name in to get food for his brothers and sisters. We make a joke of it, for as many names as I put in, he puts in the same and vice versa. It increases our chances, fills our stomachs with grain and dread but even 20 names is low odds around here.

Iris is about to say something else but the gong sounds. My heart immediately leaps into my throat as we wobble down the path and join the others trudging their dejected way to the stage where Effie Trinket will announce this year's games and draw the new tributes this year.

It's this bit I hate the most, the marching. It's the time when I start thinking of escape routes, contemplate diving headlong into the bushes and just taking off into the unknown. In previous years on reaping days when I've been lucky enough to be spared for another year I've stayed up late listening to the sound of the woods on my back porch and wondered what I would find if I ever did just act on impulse and run. Maybe I'd find the fabled ruins of District 13…maybe I'd be able to run so far that I'd find another Capitol with a different set of rules.

But then I hear my mother as she struggles to get out of bed into her wheel chair and all thoughts of escape are wiped.

No one really has to tell us to get in line, we just filter naturally inward, a by product of years and years doing the same thing. The stage this year looks the same, worn and scuffed like everything else in District 12. There's something ominous about it as I watch it through the glare of the midday sun, it seems to be holding all the pent up despair of the unlucky chosen though they've yet to grace its steps. I glance around at my peers and try not to linger on Dorian Charter. Which faces will disappear from our ranks this year?

We file gently in. The process takes a while and I can see the auburn head of Archie as he takes his place next a tall, lithe boy that I recognise from school. His expression is drawn and his face is white wash with fear but he grins and gives me a thumbs up when he catches me looking.

"Hello? Hello?" Effie Trinket's grating voice sounds out over the microphone commanding our attention. She's looking particularly freaky this year, resplendent in an apple green velvet ensemble with a powder green wig to match. Her face is painted shock white and her eyes are heavily hooded with shiny eye shadow. It shimmers as she turns this way and that in the light. The Peacekeepers surrounding her seem to stand a little straighter to attention as she speaks.

"Ah, welcome one and all to the 81st annual Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour."

A winning smile, a bat of the sparkling eyelashes. There's a man with a camera circling the stage below Effie and she seems to be following him with her eyes. I tune out for a bit as she chit chats idly into the microphone and introduces the Mayor who steps up to tell the story of Panem, the same story we hear every year. I glance over at Archie, meaning to catch his eye but he's looking dead ahead, his lips set into a tight, thin line.

Once he's finished the story of the uprisings, lingering on the familiar message at the end of punishment and repentance, he reads out the list of winning names from District 12, pausing as he hits on the infamous Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the dual winners of the 74th Hunger Games. It's still the only time in Panem history that two winners have ever been allowed to leave the stadium and the Capitol has made it perfectly clear to the Districts since then that this was a fault of the Game Maker's which has been dealt with. Nothing like that will ever happen again.

Katniss and Peeta themselves appear on stage now, Katniss wearing her iconic blue dress, the dress that she was wearing when she volunteered to replace her sister in the Hunger Games almost 7 years ago now. She wears it every year, despite the stunning outfits she must be able to choose from behind the curtains in the Victors Village, almost like she doesn't want to forget her roots. I like that about her.

Peeta, the baker's boy as he's still referred to though he's approaching his mid-twenties, stares down into the drawn faces of the kids assembled and there's pity in his expression, an unspoken apology. What does he have to be sorry for?

"And now for the moment you've all been waiting for, as always girl's first," Effie tells us cheerfully, strutting her way over to the glass ball that contains all our names. I have to suppress a sort of giggling hiccough as she saunters forward. It's at times like these that I'm glad I live out in the Districts where things are relatively normal, if everyone in the Capitol walks like that it's a wonder they don't have hip problems.

I sober up pretty quick as she thrusts her hands into the midst of snow white papers. There's a tension that tightens over the gathering as everyone holds their breath as one. I take a moment to glance first at Iris who's fiddling with the ends of her hair and then at Archie, who's standing straight as a pin, trying to hide the fact that his shoulders are shaking though I can see from the other side of the gathering. Please don't let it be my friends, please…

Effie pulls a name out of the bowl and stalks towards the microphone, flashing us (and the cameras) a big toothy smile before opening the paper out and reading the name of the doomed.

"Pippin Bardsley."

* * *

_No…no no no…this can't be happening._

It won't sink in, why won't it sink in?

Surely she didn't just read out my name, surely there must be some mistake.

The girls around me part like the red sea. I've already been singled out by the people that know me, like a red herring in the midst of a school of trout. I want to look at Iris, to beg her with my eyes to come and stand next to me as she did when my brother died in the Bloodbath, to help me take my place on stage but my eyes are fixed on the stage, unable to slide round, to look for help.

I'm completely petrified.

"Well, come on up dear," Effie's saying above me, gesturing for me to start walking. There's an edge to her voice, I must look a sight because I think she's worried I'm going to bolt. I can't though. If I do, they'll kill my mother, Iris, Archie, anyone associated with me. I can't do that, more than I can't do this…

I jerk to life and walk stiffly across the rough ground towards my place of honour on stage beside Effie. It's hard going in these shoes and as I reach the cracked stone stair case, the worst possible thing happens. The tiny strip of a heel on my damn shoe gets lodged in one of the cracks as I make to ascend the first step and my shoe twists, throwing me off balance so I trip quite spectacularly and fall forward.

Abject humiliation grips my already tense stomach and mingles with the nauseous feeling of animalistic fear churning through me. Tears are threatening to dredge their way up through my system but I refuse point blank to let my expression change as I rise up. It may be the worst thing that could happen, tripping up, showcasing my poor dexterity to the cameras and therefore the other tributes but it's what I do next that might help me rectify the damage done.

I stand, don't even bother to dust myself off and continue forward. No one has dared to laugh and for that I'm grateful though its eerie, like they all know I've made everything that much worse already. Effie's face comes into view followed by the faces of Katniss and Peeta. Katniss' grey eyes meet mine for a split second and I can see determination there, a spark of something. Peeta looks like he's struggling with himself. His expression keeps changing as he looks at me.

Effie asks for volunteers to take my place but of course no one steps up. This doesn't faze me. Though Iris would probably have a better chance of survival given her skills, she has her family to feed, her own life to live. My eyes brush hers briefly as Effie goes back to the glass bowl to pull out the name of my unfortunate companion and I'm startled to see tears running silently down her face, dripping onto the dust below. The blatant display of emotion makes me feel a little overwhelmed and for one wild, awful moment, I think I'm going to faint.

Effie steps up to the microphone and unravels the second paper.

"Niall Hollis."

My eyes widen in surprise and my head automatically flicks in the direction of Archie and the lithe boy standing next to him. As soon as his name is called, Niall's expression becomes completely steely. His jaw is set as he marches out to join the Peacekeepers waiting by the edge of the crowd of boys and his eyes are intense as he heads up to take his place beside me.

Niall Hollis is 2 years older than me and is practically infamous in District 12 for the sheer amount of times he will sign up for tesserae. Every year he waits on the sidelines knowing that he will be called eventually. It's a miracle he's managed to make it to 17 without being chosen.

I heard about him before I met him, the boy mad enough to put his name in 100 times. I thought that he probably had a few screws loose but when we bumped into each other, inevitable during the time allocated to apply for tesserae, I was faced with a stoic, intelligent person that went about signing his life away in a cold and calculating manner.

Effie tells us both to shake hands and as we do, his eyes pass over me. In that instance I am completely crushed by his overwhelming indifference. It's terrifying to think that I will have to fight him in the arena, he must have been preparing for this for so long considering the odds have never been in his favour.

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_If you made it this far, thanks for the time and please remember that reviews encourage me to continue. _


	2. Railway Children

_Apologies for the appalling update schedule. I've been busy with exams and holidays but am back for the long haul now. I think that there are in fact a few spelling notes in this chapter that should be made but I can't for the life of me remember what they are even though I literally just finished reading through this chapter so apologies for those if you spot them._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games_

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**2. Railway Children**

This room.

This room is littered with bits of furniture, an old velvet couch that sags in the middle, a desk with a little drawer and a mirror propped on top, a coffee table with some chipped mugs sitting in the centre.

I take a look at myself in the mirror while I'm waiting for my mum to come and say goodbye. My round face is pale and drawn, my lips are in a dead line. My shoulders are rigid, tense and my eyes…my eyes have been completely dulled. It looks as though the person in the mirror has given up on my chance at life already.

The silence in the room is pressuring me. Every time I move, I can hear the creak of ancient floorboards and I feel guilty for making sound. My own feet are constantly making me jump.

Suddenly the door knob turns and I gasp, twitching away from the sound until the door opens revealing my mother. She reaches back to slap away the hand of the Peacekeeper as he makes to wheel her into the room and slowly rolls forward. For a moment, I'm knocked off balance by the expression on my mother's face. She looks ashen but there's a remnant of a frown and a snarl on her lips, almost like she exploded and I've been left with the residue.

But then she's opening her arms to me and I sink into them, tucking my head into the crook of her neck like I used to when I was a little girl.

"I fought them," mum confesses to me, braking the silent barrier.

I look up at her and smile through the sorrow closing over my heart. I can just imagine my mum patiently yelling at the peacekeepers about the injustice of taking her only child. It's just the way she is.

"You'll get yourself hurt again…" I whisper.

Mum looks at me and her eyes are rimmed with threatening tears.

"Won't really matter if you're not around," she tells me and that just about does it. Salt water runs in tracks down the edges of my face, dripping onto mum's dress hot and wet. I know that it's not a good idea to cry but I really can't help myself. As much as I can, I breathe in the familiar scent of my mother and try to savour the memory. I may very well never smell this achingly familiar scent again…

The Peacekeeper is there suddenly, shoving me off roughly and wheeling my mother out of the room. She tries to hold onto my hand, pleading with the man to give her more time but he just gives her a stiff and practiced apology before taking her out into the hall and locking me in.

I'm left standing alone and helpless, trapped in this tiny plush prison. All manner of emotions seem to be coursing through me, fighting to rise to dominance. Above it all though is a line of anger that I just can't fight, a raw and powerful feeling that makes me want to be mindlessly reckless. On a rage fuelled impulse I grab the mirror leaning up on the desk and throw it against one of the walls, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces, wishing I could scream.

And Iris is there, standing behind me, watching me with huge anguished eyes.

I breathe out raggedly for a few seconds and try to remember that I don't have much time.

"Please Iris, feed my mum. Don't put your name in for tesserae just…" I trail off and sink back until my shoulders hit the wall.

Iris opens her mouth. She looks like she's trying to say something that won't come out. She fiddles with her hair, clears her throat and tries again.

"I won't let her go hungry Pippin."

A small wave of relief washes over me, it's a big thing to ask considering Iris has her fair share with her own family to feed…

"And please, make sure she doesn't get herself into trouble," I plead, feeling the vulnerability etched into my face.

"I won't," she promises. There's a pause and then she crosses the little room and wraps her arms around me. We stay like that in silence, just like that day when my brother was killed, until the Peacekeeper comes to take Iris away and I miss her support almost as much as I might miss a limb.

Archie is the last in and he doesn't look at the mirror fragments on the floor. He keeps his eyes on mine as he stalks forward and almost crushes me to death in his embrace.

"Why you Pippin?" he asks into my shoulder. "Of all the people…"

Suddenly he holds me at arm's length and looks right into my eyes.

"Okay Pippin, whatever you do, don't go for any of that stuff in the Cornucopia just run," he's saying. "Just run and hide as best you can."

"You know that never works…" I mutter into his chest. I remember Katniss Everdeen's year particularly. I was only 8 at the time but I can still picture her walking agilely through the forest, making her way to the edges of the arena. When they thought she was too far away from the others, which she often was, they'd interfere and send her careening straight into those Careers.

"Hide from _them_ as well then," he barks, an edge of hysteria in his voice.

I smile at him and kiss his cheek. It's hot, flushed.

"Thanks Archie…" I tell him.

It's almost on cue when the Peacekeeper comes to take him away, attaching a claw like hand to Archie's wrist and dragging him out.

The door slams shut and the silence crushes down.

* * *

We're taken from the Justice Building straight to the train station. There's no time to stop by the house to grab my brother's boots…

The station itself is crawling with cameras, closing in to get close ups of our faces before we're herded onto the train. It's a chaotic experience, as soon as Niall and I step out of the car, we're bombarded with obscure questions about how we're feeling, what are we thinking, are we planning to wear tokens in the arena etc.

Credit where credit's due, Effie makes a fair effort to keep the cameras at a distant as we inch towards the train. Occasionally we're obliged to stay and pose for the camera, the results of which I'm sure aren't going to do us any favours, but we're soon being shooed along the pathway again.

When the train pulls up to the station, I do somehow manage to forget the morbidity of my predicament. I've never seen anything other than freight trains running over these battered lines so to see the smooth Capitol carriages pull up in dazzling steel, reflecting the violent orange sunset is something of a noteworthy experience. It looks like some kind of land whale riding the waves of the earth and as it slows down, we can all see the sleek, bullet-like build made as much for aesthetic pleasure as speed.

"Well quick quick in you go now," Effie trills in her weird Capitol accent, giving us both a firm shove so we clamber up the steps into the train.

The interior of this contraption quite literally takes my breath away. Everything is upholstered or expertly decorated in an inoffensive shade of royal purple. The carpet is smooth and soft underfoot, the table cloth on the dining table laid out for us is purple satin, shimmering in the afternoon glare. There are gossamer curtains on the windows, little switches on the walls that turn on electric lamps. There's a big, flat TV screen in the centre of the back wall and paintings, so many paintings scattered all the way down the corridors.

As my eyes travel the room, they can't help being pulled to the feast that's already been laid out for us, breads of every variety have been neatly arranged in quaint wicker baskets, huge pieces of fruit rest in elegant silver dishes. Desserts and pastries, porridges and sweets, I've honestly never seen anything like it before.

"I must admit I do enjoy this bit," Effie tells me as she flits by me to the back of the car where the beverages are kept. "It's so nice to see someone appreciate all this."

I can't help the grin of wonder creeping over my face as I sink down into one of the cushioned chairs. I chance a glance over at Niall hoping to catch his eye but he's not looking at any of the splendour, instead his eyes are trained firmly on the little window as the train pulls out of the station. The smile on my face falls away as his eyes catch the orange of the sunset and burn, this is possibly the last time he'll ever get to see District 12.

My breath hitches as I stand and stagger to the window. The train is picking up speed but just as we turn a corner and my view is obscured by wild shrubs, I catch a glimpse of the smoke rising up from the residential areas.

"Goodbye," I whisper and try to lock down the homesickness before it can become a weakness.

* * *

We're allowed to retire to our own rooms for an hour. The rooms are huge, spacious affairs with en suite bathrooms and hot and cold running water. Hot water takes a lot of effort at home so the fact that we can get It at the touch of a button _whilst on the move _is something of a mind warper.

I decide to take a shower with the intention of letting myself freak out away from prying eyes. Somehow I don't quite trust that I'm alone in that huge room, maybe because it's too big and I feel like there should be someone else there to fill the excess space. The water is sizzling hot and it eases the tension in my shoulders and lower back. I try to let myself handle what's happened but I just keep replaying it over and over again like a TV programme stuck on a loop, my name is called, I trip up on the staircase, Katniss Everdeen is looking at me with determined eyes, Peeta Mellark doesn't know how to react to me…

When I step out of the shower, I start rooting through the clothes in the wardrobe at the back of the room for something comfortable to wear, eventually settling on a dark grey shirt and some pull on trousers. Now that I've taken off my mum's ridiculous shoes, I can dig my toes into the soft carpet, smiling in bliss when it feels like my feet are being caressed by the floor. There are a pair of slippers next to my bed which I slip on before heading to dinner. I realise I should be trying to paint myself in a more military light in front of Niall if we are to be sworn enemies but there really is no point, Niall knows me from school and he already knows how hopeless I am.

When I trudge into the dining car, Katniss and Peeta are already sitting at the table with their plates piled high. Peeta gives me a small smile but Katniss is too busy concentrating on the food in front of her to notice me and to be honest, I can't blame her. The main course looks exquisite, a whole roast turkey with vegetables decoratively placed around the base of the cooked beast. There are buttered potatoes, garden peas and there's even a boat of gravy sitting idly at the end of the table.

I hesitate for a moment, looking suspiciously from Peeta to Katniss before launching in, grabbing a turkey leg there, a bread roll here. Peeta's smile widens as he watches me and he leans forward, blue eyes sparking with humour.

"I'd slow down if I were you," he tells me conspirationally. For one wild moment, I think the lot of it has been poisoned and gag on the piece of turkey meat I just swallowed but then I remember that it would make no sense for anyone here to want to kill me save for Niall but I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any kind of repertoire with the kitchen staff having only been on the train for an hour or so. Besides, it's not like he can call favours with his surly attitude.

Just as Peeta is nudging Katniss in the ribs and telling her I eat just like her, Niall and Effie show up. Effie is babbling on about how it's difficult to keep up any sort of fashionable appearance in the dustier areas of District 12 and Niall looks like he's about 3 more syllables away from braking Effie's neck.

"Oh, we're late, this won't do at all," Effie tuts, taking her place at the table. Niall sits down carefully next to me and acknowledges me with a nod. I wonder as I'm eating just how he feels about having me as his District 12 companion. Maybe he feels lucky, my uselessness is somewhat legendary. Maybe he's thinking that even if I do find out his secrets, I'm an easy kill so what does it matter?

"Well," Peeta says, clapping his hands together as Niall starts on the food with as much gusto as me. "I'm sure you two want to talk strategy but I'm afraid there really is no point until we're done with the opening ceremony."

Both Niall and I pause in our consumption. A piece of buttered potato falls off of my fork and splashes down into the gravy. Katniss glances up.

"Is it really that important?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I can't ignore the flickering hope in my gut hearing this. After all, all I have to do for the opening ceremony is what I'm told which mainly involves, smiling, waving and standing still. If the opening ceremony is important, perhaps I do stand a tiny chance.

Peeta is nodding gravely.

"It's important to make sure that you don't fade into the background," Peeta explains, sitting back in his chair again. "You want people to remember you so they'll remember to sponsor you."

I look to Katniss for confirmation. Despite still chewing, she's scrutinising us carefully, her eyes lingering on every inch of us. I can almost see the cogs turning in those grey eyes as they calculate the possibilities for the two of us and I'm itching to ask her what she's thinking. Whatever it is though, she's not choosing to voice her opinion now, maybe she wants us to concentrate on the immediate problem.

"Any advice for the opening ceremony?"

My eyes widen at the sound of Niall's voice. It's the first time I've heard him speak since we were reaped together earlier in the day. He has a pleasant voice for so stoic a person, very clear and very sharp.

Katniss swallows her turkey and looks him straight in the eye. An invisible war seems to wage between them as they size each other up and suss each other out.

"I'll give you the same advice my mentor gave me," Katniss says in a short sharp snap. "Shut up and do exactly what the stylists tell you."

* * *

Effie insists we watch the reapings so we all sit down together after dinner with a mug of something hot and sweet. After the first five minutes of watching, mine sits untouched on the little table by the chairs. My eyes are glued to the screen as I observe tribute after tribute rolling up to the stage. There's a pair of terrifying looking tributes from District 2, both of them looking hungrily triumphant as they take the stage and address the crowd with sparking eyes. I try not to glance at Niall but it's difficult. I'm desperate to know what he's thinking but he's so good at seeming completely nonchalant, an enigma.

The tributes continue their death marches to the various stages. There's a tall, good looking boy from 4 that reminds me of Finnick Odair, a victor from years ago that won mainly because he got so many sponsors. My heart drops a little as he takes the stage, maybe I won't get so many sponsors after all going against this guy, I'm not what you would call a striking specimen.

When the tributes from 9 are called up, a deathly silence falls over the train compartment. The girl that gets called seems pretty normal but the boy…when his name is called, there's a ripple along the crowd and a pause. The camera zooms in on the boys as they shuffle this way and that way, not meeting anyone's eyes.

Then he's brought out at the back and I've never seen anything so terrifying in my life. Peacekeepers surround him on every side. Each one of them carries a chain which links directly to a straight jacket fastened tightly around the boy's body. He has wild black hair and wilder eyes that seem to dart spasmodically over the crowd. They all fall deathly silent as he approaches so all that can be heard is his broken muttering and the few giggles that escape his lips.

The camera cuts to his District partner who hasn't managed to keep her expression indifferent as so many of us are told to do if we get reaped. She's looks as terrified as I feel.

"I didn't know they were allowed to include crazy people in the reapings," someone says on my left but I can't tear my eyes away from the screen as he's led up the stairs to take his place before the crowd.

No, I didn't know they were allowed to reap crazy people either.

"I've seen enough," I say, standing abruptly and moving swiftly out of the room. I know what I just did was probably a bad move if I want to try and stay ahead of Niall strategically. I know I should have made myself watch to the end but I just can't. I can't bear the thought of being forced into an arena with someone that needs to be restrained like that. After all, people only ever need restraints for a reason.

* * *

_Ah intrigue, it's good for your eyes (nods)_


	3. Coal to Diamonds

_Salutations to all. I do believe that this chapter is a little shorter than the others but I am happy to say that I have been writing this story in my spare time lately and have all the way up to chapter 8 to be proof read so my updates might actually become somewhat regular (le gasp)_

_A small grammar note: Apologies for random capitalisation. I tried to rectify most of it before posting this but am tired from long shifts at work so may have missed some. I will overhaul the spelling and grammar on this story when I'm feeling particularly military about the whole operation._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games._

* * *

**3. Coal to Diamonds**

I try to prepare myself for the issues that will follow being left alone, the thoughts that will rise to the surface without distraction to dilute them. To my surprise, it's easy to fall beneath the comforting curtain of oblivion and I find myself woken by Effie's rapping on the door telling me to get up, to come and see the Capitol as we pull into its depths.

It takes me a while to find the will to stay awake but eventually I force myself out of bed by rolling all the way out and slamming down face first into the carpet. This is an unfortunate move as the carpet is just as soft and warm as the bed so I'm stuck there for a few minutes more, trying not to fall back under dark, alluring waves.

When I do muster the gargantuan effort it takes to stand, I grab the closest thing available and shove it on, shuffling out to breakfast rubbing the weariness from my eyes.

"Not much of a morning person?" Peeta greets me with a smile as I enter and my answering smile is quick and easy.

Katniss glances up at me from the breakfast table and gives me a cursory nod. Niall is already there as well, picking through the fancy Capitol food with light and distant precision.

"Better sleep while you can," Katniss says through a mouthful of bread. "They won't let you get that much in the arena."

I gape at her, weighing up the comment, trying to decide if it's cruel but in the end I decide it's just blunt. That seems to describe Katniss entirely, blunt.

I snag a roll and sit down beside Niall, pulling the soft bread apart to slather it in butter.

"So, either of you got anything to show for yourselves?" Katniss asks, turning slowly from Niall to me. Her look is implicit, I know what she means.

"I thought we had to concentrate on the opening ceremony," I blurt out immediately, regretting my boldness when her intelligent grey eyes narrow.

"You do," she says, "but that doesn't mean that I do. I want something to work on while you're busy winning the crowds over."

I gulp and try to control my facial expression as a squirm of fear pulses in my stomach. How can I tell her that I have no natural abilities? That I'm completely useless? She must know this already, living in District 12…unless she thinks I've been perfecting some deadly combat technique in the woods all these years.

Niall spares me a look to let me know that he's offering me the floor but I have nothing to say so he pipes up levelly.

"I've practiced a bit with a knife, my friends say I'm good at evasion."

There's no arrogance in his statement, no foolish flaunting. He's just being straight forward, blunt like Katniss and I realise in this situation, it's probably the quickest and most helpful response.

I shake my head at her, steeling myself for what I know I have to tell her so we can bypass the initial stages of disappointment.

"Sorry, I've got nothing."

Katniss' eyes bore into mine for a while and somehow I'm expecting her to get annoyed or to try and encourage me that it's no good to have no self esteem but she just grunts and goes back to eating. I've just about had enough with the silent attitude and am about to ask her what she's planning when the Capitol comes into view. We get a brief glimpse of the shining city, surrounded by buildings that reflect the early morning sun and the water that glistens when we're sucked into a tunnel.

When we appear on the other side after a few seconds, Peeta grabs us both up and shoves us over to the window.

"Smile and wave," he hisses at us out of the corner of his mouth.

The people outside the train are a bizarre bunch. Effie looks fairly normal compared to them. Some of them have winding, moving tattoos that snake around their bodies, some of them have skin the colour of nightshade or raspberries. I don't think there's a single head with natural hair colour and everyone is smiling and waving, jostling for our attention.

My face flickers into a smile that mimics one of the people closest to the train and I give a little wave that makes people press in closer. The reaction makes me laugh. How can these people be so happy to see us knowing that we'll probably be dead soon?

It's easy to smile for these people when they seem to genuinely elated to see us. It's easy to fall into a pattern of emotional response that their euphoria brings…at least that's what I think until I chance a glance over at Niall who seems utterly lost. Instead of a smile, he's staring out of the window with a light frown on his face, his lips parted slightly as though he doesn't know quite what to do.

* * *

We're dumped in a room with a bunch of Capitol people who seem to be in complete upheaval. Some of them are scurrying around like field mice, bringing bottles and potions back and forth, some of them are issuing commands and throwing tantrums when they're brought the wrong concoction.

I'm told to lay down on one of the beds provided behind a curtain where these beauticians will get me ready to meet my main stylist. They basically have to get me up to basic standard before I can meet the real creative genius and he can work his magic.

I try to take everything in silence but it's virtually impossible. When they start sticking stuff on my legs and ripping away the fluffy carpet of leg hair that I've been nurturing for years, it's all I can do not to sit up and scream. A few involuntary whimpers escape and though I know the other tributes are only a closed curtain away, I really don't care if I come across wimpy or not.

"You did very well," one of them tells me as she dumps thick goo into my hair and starts maliciously massaging my scalp.

"Some of the other tributes got a bit…uh…violent as I understand it."

Yeah, I can just imagine those tributes from District 2 getting fired up about someone doing this to them and I can just see that District 9 boy with his wild eyes sending people flying.

The team work for what seems like hours, plucking and pasting, massaging and tutting. Eventually, despite the pain, I'm able to tune them out until one of them clears her throat, pulling my attention.

"You're ready," she announces proudly.

There are butterflies in my stomach as they push me into a little room behind the curtain that I thought had been placed there to preserve some modesty. There's a huge window inside and a velvet couch that makes the couch in the Justice Building back home seem like scrap. For a few minutes, I'm left to my own devices and think about coping methods. Everything is happening so fast, I'd be surprised if I managed to get to the end of today without some sort of mental breakdown.

I vaguely wonder how Niall's doing as I scoot across the room and look out over the Capitol where the parades and street parties have just started, announcing the arrival of the Tributes, the doomed.

What must it be like to be a citizen of the Capitol? What must it be like to see children slaughtered on TV every year without a care or thought for the barbarity of the whole thing? Are these people inherently bad? Surely they must see something wrong with killing innocent people…but then I guess if you've been brought up on it, anything can seem like the norm.

I hardly notice as the door clicks open behind me and my stylist slides in, fixated as I am on the parade of harsh colours below. It's only as he lets out a barely audible sigh that I spin round, wide eyed with surprise.

His eyes are fixed instantly on mine and are a subtle green in colour, accentuated by an eye shadow just a few shades darker which rolls out onto high cheek bones. He's pale but his hair is dark in perfect contrast, falling down to his shoulders in controlled waves. As he moves into the light, his hair flashes midnight blue, much more subtle than the people I've seen down in the streets. His clothes are dark blue to match his hair.

I smile tentatively at him but he ignores me, his face grim set and determined as he looks me over, moves close and starts measuring me with thumb and forefinger. Eventually he stands back, his face completely unreadable.

"Well," he says and his voice has that kind of muffled edge that makes him sound like he's mumbling when he clearly isn't.

"I've seen worse."

I blink at him, unsure of how to take this but he's smiling at me and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

That smile…I'm not the best material he's ever worked with but he can do something, I'm not just a lost cause.

"So you can make these people like me?" I venture, sounding bolder than I feel.

The smile falls from his face and he shakes his head, suddenly grave.

"No, I can't make them like you but I can certainly make them pay attention. All eyes have been on District 12's stylists since the great Cinna created the 'girl on fire' and I intend to keep it that way."

I can't help but cast my mind back to the jump suits that had literally been set on fire in Katniss Everdeen's year, how stunning she looked. A flicker of optimism sparks inside me but I'm instantly wary. Optimism is a dangerous thing, especially in this situation. If I let it grow too much, I might start thinking I can win this thing and might just abandon caution for an offensive approach way outside my comfort zone. It's something I can't really afford to do.

"My name's Pippin," I blurt out as he circles me like a vulture, needing to tell this man my name, something about me if he's going to change the way I look.

He looks up, blinking, startled, then smiles at me again.

"My name is Curse," he tells me.

Curse? That seems particularly unfortunate, even by Capitol standards.

He pulls me down onto the sofa suddenly, and I let out a whimper of surprise, berating myself for showing weakness, even to a stylist.

His eyes find mine, full of concern but when I don't give voice to ailment, he chooses to continue.

"This year, I intend to break tradition. There's nothing more we can do in the realms of burning coal," he tells me, as if I'm going to understand any of his fashion mumbo jumbo. "Instead, I want to do something with the 'coal to diamonds' legend."

"Uh…you know it's not actually possible for coal-

"I know that, you know that, those Capitol people _don't _know that. Trust me," he says lightly and for some incomprehensibly stupid reason, I do.

* * *

I feel completely ridiculous but having seen my reflection, I know I don't look it. How Curse managed to make me look like this I'll never know. I look older, prettier, somewhat iconic in the shadow black dress sprinkled with diamond studs so it literally looks like I'm wearing the night sky. At the bottom, the black material of the dress sweeps upwards revealing a white veil-like skirt underneath, I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome in this department. My nails have been painted black to match the clothes and on my head is a subtle, silver tiara.

The only things I'm not sure about are the shoes. They're similar to the ones my mum made me wear only yesterday…only yesterday, can it really have been only then that I was torn away from my life, my family?...

But anyway, I made it pretty obvious to the entire country that I couldn't balance in shoes like these yesterday, so why he thinks I'll suddenly be able to balance in them now, I'll never know.

When Niall sees me down by the chariots, his eyes widen and his lips part slightly as though he's trying to hold off on a jaw drop. Somehow, despite the seriousness of the situation, this makes me grin like a loon.

He's dressed to match me in a diamond studded military style jacket with veil-like cuffs. Together, we look quite smart and serious, certainly more stylish than some of the other tributes do.

As I glance around, I notice the boy from District 9 dressed in a gold, weaving jacket with his partner, the girl who looked so frightened of him during the Reapings, holding onto his hand like a life line.

Just a chariot behind them, the unfortunate District 10 had two 12 year olds reaped this year and both of them look tiny in their shepherd outfits. It'll be a miracle if they're able to see over the edge of the chariot.

"Remember to smile," a voice hisses in my ear and I'm met with the eyes of the baker's boy, Peeta. "Smile like you love these people, like you care about their approval."

He helps me up into the chariot which is ebony black to match us with a huge diamond attached to the front. I have to wonder if these jewels are real and if I can consider a final request to send something of my stunning outfit to my mum so she can pick off the jewels and live like the rich do.

Before us, the doors to the great hall open and the noise hits us like a nuclear blast. Katniss comes to stand beside Peeta and her grey eyes are stoic. She says something before we start moving but I can't quite catch it.

"Wait," I say to the chariot as though it can hear me and respond.

I stagger in the insane shoes and feel a hand clamp around my wrist. I have the briefest of moments to shoot Niall a terrified look before we're exposed to the masses. There's a flash of blinding light and as my eyes clear, I can see the crowd bobbing up and down like a sea, an overwhelming physical sea of people. They're screaming and cheering, gasping over our clothes and as I start to mimic the smile on their faces, raising a hand, the silver tiara nestled in my hair lights up and I understand now why this touch is necessary.

It's almost like a miner's head lamp, illuminating the way through the darkness underground and, as I glance this way and that, the light catches in the prism like arches of the diamonds and throws us into wonderful rainbow illumination.

This genius touch makes me laugh out loud and wave with more fervour as we continue ever onwards. It's only as we pull out in front of the President's address and a hush falls over the excited people that I realise Niall hasn't let go of my wrist the entire time.

* * *

_Ah fashion, clearly not my strong suit. I spent hours researching and trying to come up with something that wouldn't horrify the populace XD_


End file.
